Five Ways to Stop a Friend from Reenlisting
by stupidpenname
Summary: Post LAST. In the wake of WWI, Watson is planning to re-join the army. How will the world's Greatest Consulting Detective  -retired-  stop his closest friend from going back to the front line? Told from Watson's POV. COMPLETE.
1. Prologue: The Decision

**A/N: **Hello and welcome to my first multi-chaptered fic. The first chapter is mainly set up but believe me we will get to the meat of the situation very soon. This is post _His Last Bow_ so we are dealing with a retired Holmes just after the completion of the Von Bork case. KCS rules of retirement apply; that is, Watson never remarried, has a practice in London and Holmes lives in Sussex. Any mistakes in canon are entirely my doing. Thanks be to medcat, queen of the betas, for helping me with this first chapter and Barbossa's Monkey for helping me with story ideas. And yes, I did steal one of yours.

**Disclaimer: **Do not own, blah blah blah.

* * *

I hadn't told Holmes that I planned on re-enlisting. This may sound entirely ridiculous in hindsight but I had been waiting for the right moment. Holmes possessed the most stubborn nature I have ever encountered and I was certain he wouldn't understand my decision. He probably wouldn't even hear of it. Holmes would attempt to dissuade me, I was sure, with a myriad of reasons; my age, my leg, the fact I had fulfilled my duty to king and country a thousand times over. These reasons were obvious enough, to me and everyone else. However, as the pressure mounted around the empire and I saw more and more young men striding down the streets in new uniforms, I could not but remember when I had been one of them.

And how little I'd known of what lay in store for me.

Nevertheless, for a short while I had been able to distance myself from the truth; that human faces stood behind the surging political landscape. Then fate, it seems, decided to send me a deliberate message.

I had been on my way back my practice after posting a letter when I saw a man walking in the opposite direction. He was one of the many new recruits such as I have described above. A satchel over his left hip, rifle over his right shoulder and his boots polished to an impractical shine. I intended to pass him by, but as the man drew closer he peered at me quizzically before deliberately stepping into my path.

'Ay. If it isn't Doctor Watson!'

I started and leaned back slightly to get a better look at the individual before me. He certainly looked familiar but it took me a moment to place those cunning eyes and lopsided grin.

'Wiggins!' I cried when realisation finally struck me. I was shocked I had not recognised him straight away. To be fair, I hadn't seen the boy's – no, man's – face in years and back then it had always been hidden under a layer of grime and a grubby cap. For the people who were forced to navigate around us while we vigorously shook hands and clapped each other's shoulders, it would have been impossible to tell that the fellow standing in front of me had ever been a street Arab. His distinctive accent had been worn away over the years, maturing into something comprehensible, which saddened me slightly. He had also grown to possess an open, clean shaven face and squared shoulders making Wiggins look like a recruitment poster come to life. He certainly didn't look like the type of person who could steal your purse, watch and handkerchief without you even realising. I wondered whether he still possessed that skill.

We stood there talking for heaven knows how long, much to the irritation of fellow pedestrians. It was a pleasure to see that the young boy that I had first met in Baker Street all those years ago had grown into an actual human being, with a life that had spread beyond that of running errands of a dubious legal nature for my companion. Apparently, his life took a dramatic turn when he was hired as a ship's hand by a Captain Vernert who had been visiting doctor brother while docked in London. After working hard in the spice trade for many years, Wiggins decided to work on the waterfront rather than on the sea and it had treated him rather well, or at least gave him respectable employment. He told me about how he wooed his lovely wife Louise by telling her he was in fact THE Wiggins from A Study in Scarlet. How young Sophie adored my stories to such an extent she had worn out all the copies of The Strand they owned. That Isaac had broken his arm a few years ago when his older brother David convinced him to join in a dramatic re-enactment of Reichenbach Falls on their roof and that when Ivy lost her first tooth and dropped it in the street she threw a fit because her father didn't put Holmes on the case strait away. As my brain attempted to absorb all the information being flung in my direction – Good grief! Wiggins? Married? Four children? Surely not! – I managed to ask the question that had been revolving in my head for some time.

'So I've see you've joined His Majesty's services.' I said tentatively. Wiggins instinctively straightened with patriotic pride.

'Too right, Doctor. Planning on giving Jerry a good 'iding when the time comes. Louise was none too keen on the idea but she knows that it is every true Englishman's duty.'

I tried to give a supportive smile but in my mind I could help but share Mrs. Wiggins' trepidation.

'I must admit I am curious. What possessed you to join? You said your wife was concerned by your decision so was it someone else who convinced you to sign up?'

Wiggins cocked his head slightly, a cheerful expression creeping across his features.

'In a round-about way, Doctor. In a round-about way.'

'Who?'

'You, Doctor.'

I felt as though my tongue had swelled, taking up all the free space in my mouth. 'Me?'

'Too right, Doctor.' He shuffled his gun into a different position and lent against the wall in a nonchalant fashion. 'You see, I remember that back when I was just a nipper 'elping out you and Mr. 'Olmes on cases, I just didn't get you.'

'Is that so.'

'Yep. You always 'ad Mr. 'Olmes back, right from the start. I didn't matter whether it was three in the morning or your leg was acting up or you was bound to get your 'ead smashed in by some thugs or anything. You would always be ready with that gun of yours and follow 'im into the night to wherever 'e needed you to be. I thought you was mad, truth be told. But then later when I was a bit older, I realised that you 'ad learned 'ow to do that it the army. You must 'ave. If you didn't learn 'ow to watch out for your fellow soldiers there you would all end up dead, wouldn't you? It was just like me and the rest of the boys back on Baker Street. You were like us. I finally got it. That's when I decided that one day, if I were need, I would join up too. '

I was speechless, torn between being flattered and horrified. I always assumed that Wiggins had idolised Holmes. He had certainly watched the man very intently when he was younger, constantly brimming with admiration, if I remembered true. Had the boy watched me with the same intent? The same child-like awe? How could I have had such an effect on a young man's life and not realised it at all? Wiggins gave a chuckle that sliced through these thoughts.

'And now I see I've gone and embarrassed you! Don't worry your 'ead about it Doctor. I only 'ope I make you and Mr. 'Olmes proud.' And with that sentence serving as a goodbye, he gave me a salute and sauntered down the street and out of sight before I had a chance to reply. He was gone and there was a very good chance we would never meet again in this life. I felt a wave of nausea strike me as I leant against the wall for support. I was the reason Wiggins had joined? I had always been proud of my service in Maiwand, and had never shrunk away from my identity as an officer. Had I inadvertently gloried in it, projecting a false image of valour and adventure to a young impressionable youth? Was I the reason that a man could be killed, a wife could be widowed and children made fatherless?

That night I did not sleep. My mind was riddled with scenes of Wiggins, past, present and future; the young boy who scampered through 221b Baker Street back in 1887, the man in immaculate uniform I encountered today, and the same man on a far-off battlefield choking as he expires, sodden with mud and blood.

When my curtains began to glow, filled with the morning light that lay on the other side of the window, I had made my decision. I couldn't sit by and be content to live comfortably, fully in the knowledge that men –boys – were being slaughtered in droves across the channel. Not when I had no dependents of my own. Not when I had the skills to save them.

I was resolved. I was at peace.

I just didn't know how I was going to tell Holmes.

* * *

**Oh Watson. Always feeling as though his job to look after everyone else. I wonder how Holmes will respond? R & R.**


	2. Number One: Attire Abduction

**A/N: Hello and welcome to the second chapter. Thank you for all those who reviewed. You are made of wonder and sunshine. And now on with the show.**

* * *

After a long struggle I made a choice.

I would enlist first and then tell Holmes.

I realise, dear reader, you may consider this an act of cowardliness on my part and you may well be right. Then again you have not spent the majority of your life in the close company of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. If you had, you would be aware that the appropriate bounds of social behaviour do not necessarily apply where our friendship is concerned – even on those occasions when I wished they would. There was a very real danger that if I were to inform him of my intentions the night before heading down the recruitment office, I would wake to find myself hand-cuffed to my bed the next morning. However if I were to inform him of my re-enlistment after the fact there would be nothing he could do to stop me, save inventing some sort of Wellsian time-travelling device.

Holmes had been busy of late. My knowledge is limited on the subject, but apparently the apprehension of a German espionage agent requires filling in a fair amount of paperwork. He had gladly accepted my offer to stay with me in London while the matter was being sorted, so he needn't travel back and forth between Sussex and Pall Mall. However between my patients and his duties to his brother and the government (that may be a tautology) there was rarely a time when we crossed paths for more than half an hour. I admit the situation was disappointing, having not seen my closest friend in over two years. But as he left the house each morning Holmes would flash that grin of his in my direction and promise me as soon as Mycroft considered "everything done to his satisfaction" we would have plenty of time to catch up.

Those words were like being slashed with a razor. I knew there would be little time for reminiscing before I was sent out to the front.

However with his mind still focused on the last few details of Von Bork affair, he was thankfully blind to everything else around him. Normally Holmes would have picked up my unease in an instance, reading the tell-tale signs in my face and posture. But that brilliant brain was consumed by the latest case to the point of obsession. Being struck by lightning probably wouldn't have caught his attention. It was good to know his time across the Atlantic had not changed him too much.

Yet despite Holmes' apparent obliviousness I still hesitated. It seemed like whenever I had a spare moment where I could have gone down to the recruitment office I would instead turn to some other task; filling out paperwork, running errands and so forth. As I reflect upon it, I suppose it was all in a vain attempt to post-pone the inevitable unpleasantness that was bound to arise from my enlistment. In the past two years the only contact I had had with Holmes was in the form of four letters – each battered, water-stained and censored to the extreme – and in those years there wasn't a day when I didn't fear for his safety. To have my friend back in England, to see his face each day even for the briefest moment, gave me such immeasurable joy. It was almost like we were back at Baker Street. I hope I cannot be blamed for wanting to prolong this period for as long as possible.

Roughly a week after my encounter with Wiggins, I stumbled home after a late-night house call to find Holmes sitting cross-legged by the fire-place, surrounded by chaotic piles of paper. I smiled as I took off my hat and coat.

'Ah, hello Holmes, 'I said. 'I'm surprised to see you awake. Then again after years of sharing quarters with you, I have no idea why I should be.'

Holmes gave a grim, short laugh. 'Believe it or not Watson, in my twilight years I have finally begun to see the appeal of a good night's sleep. Being up at this hour isn't my choice so much as my brother's. Just when I thought there couldn't possibly be any more banal and pointless forms that need to be signed, one of Mycroft's cronies would mysteriously appear with another pile. It is the bureaucratic equivalent of _peine forte et dure_.' I expressed my condolences. He waved them off. 'Many thanks Watson but this too shall pass. By tomorrow night as it happens.' He lifted his head, his eyes alight. 'For by then I hope to have this whole business finally sorted.'

I tried to stop myself from taking a sharp breath, fearing that Holmes would notice. 'You mean...' I paused. 'You mean to say you will have officially finished your enquiry?'

'Done, dusted, signed in triplicate and locked away in some dank filing cabinet never again to see the light of day. I tell you Watson, for a matter they wish to keep as quiet as possible they require an unfeasible amount of written evidence. Ah, but ours is not to wonder why.'

I nodded, doing my utmost to look cheerful. 'Well, I best leave you to it then.' My hand landed on the banister and I began to ascend the stairs. 'Good night Holmes.'

'Night Watson.' he called after me, but his voice was already distant as he turned back to his papers.

I shut the door of my bedroom and lent my head against it. It seemed that fate had once again forced my hand. I knew as soon as he had completed the case Holmes would shed his mind of everything – Of Altermont, of Von Bork, of Mycroft, of espionage, of his time in America – and all of that unfocused energy he had been channelling towards his goal would be turned on me. By tomorrow evening there would be nowhere to hide.

There was nothing for it. I would enlist first thing in the morning. I had no alternative.

...

I would be lying if I said I slept well that night. I would be lying if I said I slept. A more adequate description would be that I lay in bed with my eyes closed until sunrise.

I chose not to stir from my bed until I heard Holmes shut the front door on his way out. I couldn't bear to face him.

I don't recall ever feeling as heavy hearted as I did that morning. Eventually, through sheer force of will I swung my legs over the bed and headed for my wardrobe.

_Maybe it won't be as dreadful as you imagine, _I thought to myself. _After all this _is_ Holmes we are talking about. The man shot V.R. into our living room wall with a pistol, for goodness sake. If there is one man who understands the need to do one's patriotic duty than surely it is Holmes. Why, when you tell him this evening he may not even be vexed by your little deception. _

I shook my head. I couldn't even delude myself. If I had to guess what the future held it would have been this: Holmes would most likely be furious with me for "needlessly risking my life", I would say something I would regret, he would leave for Sussex in a huff, and then we would both end up not speaking to each other until I was about to leave for the front. Then we would both feel very foolish and regret wasting the last few weeks we could have shared in each other's company being angry with one another instead. I could see the scenario fall into place before my eyes like dominoes and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.

With a heavy sigh I opened my wardrobe.

...To find it completely bare.

No shirts, no socks, no trousers, no shoes, no collars, not even a tie. All my articles of clothing had vanished overnight.

I groaned. Holmes knew.

The first emotion felt was obviously shock, but that was swiftly replaced by rage. How dare he? How dare he attempt to control my life, my decisions, in such a childish manner! Nevertheless lurking somewhere beneath my anger was the niggle of curiosity. How did he find me out? How long had he known of my plans? And how in heaven's name had he managed to sneak into my room last night and abscond with my entire wardrobe without my knowledge?

I cast aside these questions for the moment and tried to asses my situation. As luck would have it I had been so preoccupied by my predicament the night before that I hadn't bothered to change into my pyjamas. However this didn't do me much good. All I was wearing were my un-pressed pants and the singlet I had worn beneath my shirt the day before. Hardly the sort of attire a man commonly wears when attempting to re-join an institution as fastidious about their clothing as the British Army. Holmes and taken my shoes as well so my journey was going to be barefoot.

Yet I was determined, probably more so than before. Sherlock Holmes may have been an authority when it came to battling wits with criminals and thieves but I had lived with the man for longer than anyone else. I had studied him in depth and chronicled his exploits. Unofficially I was the world's leading Sherlock Holmes expert. If there was one person who stood a chance of circumventing the will of London's finest consulting detective (retired) than it was me.

I hurried downstairs and headed straight for the book-case. Holmes would have certainly hidden my wallet somewhere but hopefully he hadn't discovered... Aha! Yes. The spare pound I kept hidden between the pages of my medical journal was still there. As I folded the note and stowed it away I caught I glimpse of something on my desk.

A letter.

I approached the desk slowly, as though it might be booby-trapped. I felt that would probably have been a little too excessive for Holmes' tastes but I could never be certain what would appeal to the man's bizarre sense of humour. Carefully I lifted the envelope from the table. It was indeed from Holmes. It read as follows:

_My Dear Watson_

_I will be back at six o'clock tonight. I am certain we will have a great many things to discuss. I took the liberty of clearing your schedule at your practise, I hope you don't mind. The public likes their physicians to maintain a certain level of professionalism and I doubt that you would be able to uphold such an image if you insisted on treating them in nothing but pants and a singlet. If I were in your position I would spend the day at home with a nice cup of tea and a good book._

_Regards,_

_Holmes._

I flung the note away from me like it was a spider I had just discovered on my sleeve. A cup of tea and a book, indeed! Was he deliberately trying to goad me, or had he forgotten my true nature in his time abroad. It didn't matter. If Holmes thought something as trivial as the conventions of dress was going to stop me from doing what I thought was right, he was sadly mistaken.

* * *

**Ever hear that saying about an irresistible force upon an immovable object? This could get ugly. Please R&R.**


	3. Number Two: Fund Extraction

**A/N: **Hello everyone. We're are back from the ad break. That is we would be, if fanfiction contained ads. Which it thankfully does not. Once again thanks to everyone who reviewed. Praise is good but so is constructive criticism, so don't be shy to point out any flaws you see. Particularly in terms of canon or historical accuracy. I tried to do my research but I'm afraid The Mighty Google failed me in some aspects. Also if anyone has any tips on writing a chase scene I would love to hear them.

Phase one of Holmes' plan (Codenamed "Attire Abduction") is complete. Now on to phase two - Fund Extraction.

* * *

The morning air was sharp and clean as I stepped outside my front door. I could tell, because I found myself wishing that I had more clothing between me and that air. The streets were already bustling with people hurrying about from one task to another, like bees in one of Holmes' precious hives. Yet despite their haste these hard-working Londoners seemed to find enough time to spare me looks of bemusement, curiosity and occasionally distain. I battered these glances away. I knew that I must have looked a sight. Unshaven, unshod, and almost undressed. Yet I was far more concerned the state of my feet than my pride. Even though it was a bright summer's day, the pavement was absolutely freezing, making what would have normally been a casual stroll across the city into an arduous trek. Once or twice I tried to herald a cab but none would stop for me - I had a vague suspicion as to why. I vowed to myself that I would find an appropriate way to make Holmes pay. Something painful. Something embarrassing. Something linger...

My thoughts were interrupted as I felt someone small collide with my side, knocking the wind out of me a little. I looked down into a pair of large, dark eyes.

The boy who had bumped into me gave me a smile – one that contained more gaps than teeth. 'Beg your pardon, guv.' He said, before skirting about me to head on his way. If I had been any other man, I wouldn't have given it a second thought. However years of working with Holmes and his band of Irregulars had made me far more wary of children than the average man. My hand instantly shot to my pocket. Just as I thought. My emergency money was gone. I spun around, scanning the crowd. My assailant was casually strolling down the street, looking back at me with that mischievous grin.

'Oi! You!' I shouted, but I should have known better. The boy was off and away like a bolt of lightning. I sprinted after him, jostling other pedestrians out of my way.

I dread to think of what someone I knew would have thought if they had spotted me that morning. Fortunately they probably wouldn't have recognised me. Instead they would have just seen some half-crazed, barely decent vagrant pursuing some urchin through the streets of London.

The chase itself was quite a spectacle too. It seemed that the universe itself was against me and had gone to extreme lengths to put as many obstacles between myself and my assailant as possible. Baby carriages, paper boys, hansoms, automobiles - The boy swerved passed all these obstructions with ease, leaving me in his wake. He darted across roads and through traffic at a frantic pace, almost being trampled by a horse on at least three occasions. Once or twice I thought I had lost him, but then I would manage to spot his mop of unkempt hair or a glimpse of his shirt in the throng. After about a mile of this little game of cat and mouse (and I wasn't certain which role I was playing) I saw the miscreant turn down a narrow alleyway. An idea dawned upon me. It was a bit of a gamble but there was no time to come up with a better solution. Instead of following him, I ducked around the other side if the building and hid behind a corner. Just as I suspected the boy emerged from the alley and looked around. The street appeared empty. From my secreted location I saw his little chest heave a sigh of relief. He thought he had given me the slip. The pick-pocket pulled up his pants, whipped his nose on his sleeve and then walked nonchalantly along his way. Little did he realise that his way went straight pasted the corner I was waiting behind.

He sauntered past. My hand caught around his collar. The boy gave a yelp.

'Hello son.' I said. 'I think you have something of mine.'

The waif turned to me and gave a bashful look. In a strange way it reminded me of Holmes and the apologetic expressions he would give Mrs. Hudson if he broke her best china or filled our rooms with vile smelling fumes. The boy lifted his hands above his head like a solider surrendering to an enemy general.

'All, right guv. You got me, fair and square. Cripes, you don't run half fast for an old bloke do yer?'

All my anger and irritation towards the boy that had been building over my pursuit deflated instantly. I shook my head and let go of his collar.

'Look lad,' I said as I waved down his hands, 'if you hand back that pound you took we'll leave it at that. No need for me to get a constable. How does that sound?'

The boy lifted his chin. 'That's right decent of yer, gov. I think I can do yer one better, though.'

I frowned. 'How so?' He seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much .

'You can have yer pound back and' he reached inside his coat with a dramatic pause, 'you can have this letter too.'

There it was. Inside the child's grubby hand was the same type of envelope as I found on my desk that morning, with the same writing with the same name upon it. Mine. I took it from the boy and opened it, dreading having to read my friend's smug and self-satisfied tone. If you do not believe that the written word can have a particular tone, dear reader, allow me to show you evidence to the contrary:

_My Dear Watson_

_How far did Morris take you out of your way? Five blocks? Six? He is the fastest of my current batch of Irregulars and I must say his pick-pocketing skills are coming along nicely. I'm impressed you managed to catch him, particularly at your age. And with no shoes on as well! Quite an achievement. I think it would be wise to call this whole thing off. Wouldn't you agree?_

_Regards,_

_Holmes_

Morris - for I gathered that was my robber's name - had taken me at least nine blocks away from the nearest recruitment office. I least I thought he did. It suddenly dawned upon me that during the chase I had been lead into a part of London that I didn't recognise at all. I didn't know how to get home, let alone to the recruitment office. I leant against the alley's wall to catch my breath and silently curse Holmes.

'You're an Irregular, then?' I asked the child while I rubbed my sore leg. My war wound didn't bother me nearly as much as it had when I first came to London, but the chase had strained it somewhat. The boy whipped his nose on his sleeve again.

'Sort of, sir. A few weeks back this Irish bloke asks me and some friends to run a couple of errands for him, see. Follow some German guy around town, find out about the sort of friends he had and whatnot. We thought it was all pretty shonky but a penny's a penny. We even had a little bet going as to what it was all about. I said that the German probably owed him money, but Davey thought that the Irishman suspected this German fellow of cutting his lunch, if you catch my drift.'

_The boy is barely nine years old,_ I thought to myself, _he shouldn't be able to catch his own_ _drift._

Morris went on 'Then one day the Irish man turns up dress like a proper toff and tells us he's Sherlock Holmes. I mean the real life Sherlock Holmes. Can you believe it?'

'Yes.' I said. 'Regrettably I can.'

'The bloke we had been following turned out to be a nasty piece of work, which was a shame cause it meant that no-one won the bet. Anyways, yesterday, after disappearing off the face of the earth for weeks, Mr. Holmes turns up again. This time he waltzes up to me and tells me I have to help him with a special mission. It was all "hush hush," I wasn't allowed to tell anyone. He told me to wait on the corner of Queen Anne Street until I saw a man with no shoes and then nick the pound note he'd have in his back pocket.' The boys brown eyes suddenly grew very serious. 'Are you one of the bad guys, sir? Are friends of that German bloke? Should I fetch a copper?'

'No, I am not a "bad guy."' I handed Morris the note. There was no harm in letting him read it. It took a moment for him to decipher the words, his mouth silently sounding out the letters. Then I saw the Morris' eyes widen in comprehension.

'You're Watson!' he cried with delight. 'Oh Davey ain't gonna believe this one when I tell him.'

'Did Holmes tell you to do anything else?' I asked in the hope of learning what else my friend/tormentor had in store for me. Morris straightened and began reciting off a list of orders that he had stowed away in his head.

'Only that I was to run east and keep myself in your sight for as long as I could without being caught. But if yer did nab me I was to give you this letter and everything would be right.' Morris handed me back the letter and my pound note. 'Wish I could be more help.'

'You've been helpful enough, Morris.' I must confess my tone was a little dry. 'Thank you.'

'Doctor Watson? I was wondering. What's this all about? Why did Mr. Holmes want me to nick the pound off you?'

I pushed myself from the wall and stood upright on my own shoeless feet. What was I to say? That Holmes was a raving madman with no concept of the bounds of human decency? I chose instead to be tactful. 'It's nothing Morris. Holmes and I are in the midst of a game, that's all.'

Morris looked unconvinced. 'Funny sort of game, if yer ask me, guv.' I couldn't help but laugh.

'I heartily agree, lad.' I paused for a moment to look at the intelligent young boy that stood before me. 'Morris,' I asked, 'could you do me a favour?'

'Anything, Doctor Watson. What'd yer want me to do?'

I placed my hand on his shoulder. 'Never,' I said 'under any circumstances, join the army.'

* * *

Phase two complete. On to phase three.


	4. Number Three: Assault Enactment

**A/N: **Hello again! Sorry this took longer than I thought it would. Therefore I won't keep you waiting any longer.

Begin phase three! *Evil Laughter*

* * *

It was midday by the time I had found my bearings again. It was strange. I had lived most of my life in that city and yet so many places in London were completely foreign to me, or had changed so drastically in recent years that I could no longer recognise them. Holmes had often lamented since his retirement that this London was no longer _his _London, and I was beginning to question whether it was still mine. I may as well have been in Constantinople for all I knew. It was also difficult to ask anyone for directions, most people taking my unusual mode of dress and flustered manner as a sign of an unstable mind. I had thought to ask Morris but naturally I was a little wary of the child and his allegiances. While I doubted that he would lead me astray again, I decided not to chance it. There was no telling how much Holmes had influenced the boy.

I eventually stumbled across a familiar street and was able make my way from there. By this time, however, I became increasing paranoid of the people around me. Everywhere I looked I thought I saw a potential minion of Holmes. Every cab-driver, every stall vendor, every woman and every child was possibly in his employ. I avoided everyone's gaze and took the most direct route to my destination, going as fast as I dare without arousing attention. I now knew that there was no level to which Holmes wouldn't stoop to prevent me from re-enlisting. So this how it felt for all those criminals he pursed over his career. No wonder he was notorious among London's underbelly. I would sooner be hunted by the hounds of hell. I steeled my nerve and continued onward.

I was only two streets away from the recruitment office when I heard a scream. I turned to look in the direction. On the corner, up the other end of the street, a crowd was gathering. I saw a young man dash from the scene and head in my direction. Every fibre of my being was pleading with me not to get involved, that it was another of Holmes' elaborate distractions, and yet I couldn't stop myself from halting the young man in his tracks.

'What the devil is going on up there?' I asked him, not wasting time on civility. The man did likewise in turn.

'There is a great bear of a man beating a woman senseless up there.' he gasped. 'His wife I think. He claims she has been unfaithful and he is going to make her pay. I'm going to find a constable. He'll kill her if no one intervenes.'

The man pushed me aside and dashed away. I let him. The screams grew louder and more desperate from the direction of the corner. Was no one going to help this woman? Half my mind was certain this was connected to Holmes in some way, but the other half insisted I wouldn't feel easy until I had put my mind to rest. I made my way to the corner and bustled my way through the throng of gawking spectators. The scene was definitely something to behold.

The man who had gone for help wasn't lying when he described the attacker as a bear. Mattered hair and beard, broad shoulders and height of at least six feet four inches; there was little other comparison to be made. Yet what struck me was the snarl upon his lips and the fury that burned within his eyes. It was these that made him truly beast-like. The brute was grasping a woman by the hair and pulling her face up to meet his own. This face would have been attractive if it was not contorted with fear and pain, as she tried franticly to get free of his grasp. On the side of her head, just above the temple, I could see a patch of blood spreading through her fair hair.

I did not think nor hesitate. My fist stuck the side of the attacker's head. The blow had little more effect than a mosquito bite. The man span around, threw the woman to the ground and turned his attentions upon me.

'Oi! What do you think you're doing?' he growled, like a tiger that had just been prodded with a sharp stick.

'Leave the woman alone.' I tried to keep my voice as even as possible. Now that I was close I could tell the man was easily six foot seven.

'This had nothing to do with you. Now clear off and let me deal with my misses in peace.'

I was suddenly aware of all the eyes burrowing into me. The crowd looked on like the audience at a circus. Was no one else willing to help this poor woman?

'I will do no such thing.' I said. The man loomed over me. I was wrong before. He was unquestionably six foot nine.

'This is your last chance. Go back to your comfy little home and stop sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong.'

'Please.' This came from the woman who was still lying prone on the pavement. She looked up at me with blood-shot eyes. 'Just do what he says. It'll be worse if he...'

'_You just shut it!'_ the man bellowed at his wife before ploughing his foot into her side. Before I could stop myself my fist planted itself into his stomach. The man snarled and swung at me wildly like a man possessed. I managed to dodge his blows and hit him in the side again. He swiped at me with his giant paw, knocking me off my feet. I just managed to roll out of the way before he crushed my face with his foot. I heard the woman gasp in fright. I swiped my leg out, catching his feet out from under him. He fell to earth with an almighty thud. I waited, panting. He didn't stand up again.

I slowly rose to my feet and headed towards the injured lady. He sat where she had fell, staring at where her husband lay.

'Is he...' she asked. 'Is he going to be alright?'

I shook my head. I had seem this type of woman far too many times before. By tomorrow evening they would probably be back in each other's embraces as though this whole incident was just another lovers tiff. 'He'll live.' I muttered. 'Let me have a look at you.'

Gently as I could I tilted the woman's head to the right. The blood hadn't spread any further which suggested she wasn't still bleeding. That was a good sign. Yet there should have been a lot more if it and stranger still I couldn't find the laceration... Realisation dawned upon me. I drew my bloody fingers to my nose and gave it a sniff. It was just as I suspected. Ink. Red Ink.

'Holmes?' I asked. The woman smiled.

'Aw, what gave it away?'

'Should I have gone a little harder on you, Doctor?' asked a voice from behind. The beast-man had propped himself on one elbow and had a mischievous glint in his eyes, like a schoolboy who had just pulled a prank on his teacher. I rose to my feet.

'I should have realised a man your size wouldn't have gone down so easily.' I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible but inside I was raging. Hiding my possessions and having an irregular pick my pocket was one thing but making me believe that a woman's life was in danger was far too much. I dusted myself off and tried to muster as much of my remaining dignity as I could. 'I assume he gave one of you a letter.'

'You would assume right, Doctor Watson.' said the woman. She retrieved the letter from somewhere within her skirts and passed it to me. The confused crowd of people had not dissipated, and more than one person attempted to read the message over my shoulder.

_My Dear Watson_

_Doesn't this send your mind back to the Adler case? Such fond reminiscences. I knew you would never be able to resist coming to the aid of a lady in danger. I hope you didn't hit Bert too hard. We used to be sparring partners in the ring, but I think we would both admit we've seen better days. The lovely Cassandra I know from the theatre and I am sure she played the part of the damsel in distress to a tee. In fact I was the one who originally introduced Bert and Cassandra to each other. Would you believe they have been happily married for nearly twenty five years? And you accuse me of not having a romantic bone in my body. Ah, but we'll have plenty of time to reflect upon bygone years when I return tonight. You've put up a valiant effort my friend. I expected nothing less._

_Regards_

_Holmes_

I finished the letter and looked back at the couple who had spent the time I'd taken to read my message to complement each other on their acting ability and reassure one another that they were unhurt. This affectionate scene was so at odds with the one I had witnessed only five minutes ago that I couldn't help but start at the contrast.

'Did Holmes give either of you any information about his other plans?' I asked. Cassandra looked perplexed.

'_Other_ plans? We thought that this was meant to be some sort of elaborate practical joke. I didn't realise there were other plans.'

'Truth be told, Doctor,' said Bert the benevolent bear-man, 'we rightly don't know why Holmes wanted us to do _this_ little piece of theatre for you. All he told us is that he would be very grateful if we did.' He looked down as his wife. 'We figured we owed him.'

I sighed. Why did all of Holmes co-conspirators have to be so infernally pleasant? 'I see. Well you both played your parts admirably. I was quite taken in. Now if you would excuse me...' I was about to make my exit when Cassandra grasped my shoulder.

'Doctor Watson, I apologies.' she said. 'We've obviously let this get a little out-of-hand. By way of an apology would you like to come back to our house for lunch? I have beef left over from last night's roast and you don't look like you've eaten all day.'

I wished the woman hadn't said that. I had been completely unaware of how hungry I was until she pointed it out to me. My stomach gave a traitorous growl and I was very tempted to accept her offer. But I would have been a fool if I hadn't learnt something my experiences earlier that day.

'Holmes asked you to invite me to lunch, didn't he?'

'Oh well.' said Cassandra taking Bert's hand. 'I can't say I didn't try.'

* * *

**Holmes! I would like to point out that Watson totally knew that The Great Detective was up to something. Maybe Holmes is slipping in his old age? Well he's going to have to come up with something effective soon because in the next chapter our dear Watson reaches the Recruitment Office...**


	5. Number Four: Crimminal Misconception

**AN: Yes I know I should be dragged out into the streets and stoned. Life hates me. That's all there is to it. Anyway, here is the scene you've all been waiting for. Watson reaches his destination. Thanks be to medcat for beta assistance and giving this story an abundance of commas.**

* * *

The afternoon was edging towards a close when I had finally made it to the recruitment office. To a man as tired, hungry, paranoid and irritated as I was, the sight of that office was like seeing an oasis in the desert. Like Mecca to the pilgrim. Surely I was feeling the exact same elation that Odysseus had felt once he reached the shores of Ithaca, that Jason felt when he first laid eyes on the Golden Fleece, that Galahad felt when he took the Holy Grail in his hands for the first time...

Yes, I am being rather hyperbolic, but I'm sure you will forgive me. It had been a long day.

As I entered I emitted a small sign of relief. I had succeeded I was here. There wasn't a thing Holmes could do to stop me now. He would just have to face the fact I was going to make the decisions as to how I would live my life.

And yet that hesitation that had stopped me from enlisting sooner still lingered. Throughout the day I had been so determined just to _reach_ this recruitment office that I had wilfully ignored my own trepidation. Now that I had finally arrived at the office, my anxiety had awoken tenfold. You see, one never fully stops being a soldier, no matter how many years past. My war wounds had long ago knotted themselves together beneath a layer of scar tissue but they had never faded nor ceased to ache. The memories of Maiwand had dulled but I never forgot that unique sense of horror that had given me night terrors for years afterwards. Could I really face that fear and pain again? Was I physically capable of withstanding the blows of war a second time?

Some would call me a coward for wavering. Others would have considered me a fool if I didn't.

This vacillation only lasted momentarily. As I said, one never fully stops being a soldier. Soldiers do their duty, whatever the cost. Soldiers go to war.

The hall was fairly empty. There were a few men enlisting here and there but I would speculate that most of the young men to sign-up would have done so earlier today, just as I had originally planned. I headed for the nearest desk, making a point to ignore the bewildered look the recruitment officer was giving me. He was at least half my age; a pallid, watery-eyed youth who seemed to be under the impression he could grow a moustache. He was mistaken. The poor lad was not an impressive figure by any means, and yet I was put in the awkward position of proving my worth to him. I pulled myself up to full height and looked him dead in the eye. 'I would like to enlist.'

'Is that right?' The officer sounded sceptical. 'Name?'

'John Watson, M.D., Late of the Army Medical Department. I served in Battle of Maiwand.'

'Doctor John Watson?' asked the young man, his eyebrows furrowed.

'Yes? Is something wrong?'

'No. Nothing but um...' the man looked uncertain. 'I realise how odd this must sound but I was told that if a man by your name and with your... description was to enter today I was to give you this letter.'

I froze. It couldn't be. It was impossible.

Yet the man held out yet another one of those cursed envelopes to me and I could do nothing else but snatch it from him. I opened it carefully and began to read.

_My Dear Watson,_

_So you've actually succeeded. If I were completely honest, I never expected that you would actually arrive at your destination. I can't decide whether this is a testament to your resolve or to your stubbornness._

_Unfortunately, you have left me with no choice. I hope you will forgive me for resorting to such drastic measures. Then again, you have forgiven me for worse._

_Until tonight,_

_Holmes_

I shuddered. This message was certainly the most ominous of all the letters Holmes had sent me today. What could he mean? What else could he possibly have in store...

My train of thought was broken when I felt the cold steel of a gun barrel press against the back of my neck.

No.

'Do not move a muscle.' said a voice behind me.

He wouldn't.

'You're under arrest.'

He would.

The recruitment officer stood up from behind his desk. 'What is the meaning of this? What's going on?'

'I'm sorry to trouble you, sir,' said a man with an Irish accent – the man who had the gun to my head— 'but we got reports from a very reliable source that there was a miscreant roaming about town today, claiming to be the famous Doctor John Watson.'

'What?' I said, but was denied the opportunity to voice my complaints further when the constable took me by the shoulder and forced me downwards sprawling me across the desk. The Irish policeman continued as though nothing had happened. In fact he sounded quite chipper, like a man who had located an object he had been searching for all day, or had just found out his wife was making his favourite dish for supper.

'We've been getting complaints about him all day. Indecent exposure, getting involved in brawls, chasing children through London streets, the list goes on. We were asked to track this lunatic down by Sherlock Holmes himself. He claimed that if we didn't apprehend the maniac he was likely to do himself or someone else harm.'

I supposed by Holmes' skewed definition of re-enlistment the constable was technically correct.

'But I _am_ Doctor Watson!' I remonstrated. The officer scoffed.

'Really? You wouldn't happen to have any proof of identity on your person, would you, sir?' I didn't reply. 'I thought as much.'

My struggles and protestations came to nothing as the man twisted my arms around my back. The room had fallen silent as everybody paused to watch the scene for the third time that day. I was almost accustomed to being the centre of attention. 'I swear I'm going to throttle Holmes when I see him next.' I said through gritted teeth. I heard the jangle of the handcuffs next to my ear.

'I'll add death threats to the list of misdemeanours, shall I?' said the Irishman. I felt the cold metal encircle my wrists. 'Don't you worry, sir,' this he directed to the desk clerk. 'I'll make certain this man never troubles you again.'

With that I was hoisted up by the collar and hauled out of the recruitment office.

* * *

**Fun Fact: During this time if a policeman stopped you and you didn't have any money on you, you could get arrested for vagrancy! Yes it's short and I'm sorry but I promise that tomorrows post is more than going to make up for that. And it will be tomorrow. I promise! Also I know that I haven replied to most of the reviews you guys sent for the last chapter so rather than spaming your message boxes and responding to comments you've long forgotten and no longer care about anyway I just want to say a big resounding thank you. Reviews make my insides happy.**


	6. Number Five: Ask

**AN: Hello angels and ministers of grace. This chapter is a little longer for the following reasons:**

**A) To make up for the length of the last chapter.**

**B) This is the final way Holmes will try and stop Watson revamping his military career. It is also the way he hates the most**

**C) This is also the chapter when Holmes and Watson finally meet up again.**

**UPDATE: Now chock full of Medcat Beta-risation and other essential vitamins and minerals. **

* * *

After being jostled into the back of a cab in handcuffs before the eyes of two dozen onlookers, I found myself in a rather pensive mood. Was there anyone from the old days still working at Scotland Yard, who would be able to identify me as the real Watson? How was I going to bail myself out without any money? Where would be the best place to dump Holmes' body once I had choked the life out of him? I had been so lost in my thoughts I didn't see where we were going until the cab came to a complete stop. I looked out the cab window in bewilderment. Even though the light had dwindled considerably during our journey, I knew exactly where we were.

'This can't be right.' I said, more to myself than my arresting officer. 'This is my house.'

He didn't offer any reply. Instead he grabbed me by my shoulder again and practically dragged me up my own steps and through the front door. I span around to face the policeman as he locked the door behind him. He looked back at me with sharp, clever eyes.

'So,' I said coolly, 'you must be one of Holmes' accomplices too, I expect.'

The man gave a thin smile. 'In a manner of speaking, Doctor.'

The constable had seemed short back at the recruitment office. The way he slouched and moved had given me the impression of a little man with something to prove. But here in my hallway, I could see that he was much taller than I had first thought. And much leaner. And his voice had shifted from a melodious Irish timbre for a far more familiar one.

'Holmes.' I said. 'I should have guessed.'

'Yes, you should have.' he said, pulling out a key and unlocking my restraints. 'It wasn't one of my best performances, I'll be the first to admit. I decided to re-utilise Altamont's accent. A risky decision on my part, but I suppose I have just grown accustomed to it over the past couple of years...' He didn't finish his sentence. It was probably due to the fact my fist collided with his jaw as soon as my hands were free. He rubbed his chin, still somehow managing to look infuriatingly amused by the whole affair.

'And, for my part, I should have guess that was coming,' he said. I walked past him and headed towards the door.

'I'm leaving.'

'Now, Watson? Bit late for a stroll.'

'I am in no mood, Holmes,' I spat. 'Today you made me look like a fool and clearly showed you have no respect for me or our friendship. I can't stand to be in the same room as you right now.'

Holmes' eyes darkened.

'Is that so, Watson?' He started removing pieces of his disguise from his face as he talked, slowly morphing back into the man I knew so well. 'Tell me, how is re-joining the Army without even notifying me a sign of how much you respect our friendship. You could have at least written me a brief note and left it on the kitchen bench. I expect it would read "Gone to war. Will probably have my brains blown out. Be back late. – Watson."'

I sighed and turned away from him, rubbing my hand against my forehead. He was right. I had railed against him so many times for not including me in his plans, that I was forced to concede that my actions were rather hypocritical. I felt his hand upon my shoulder.

'Watson, if there is going to be an argument between us let us thrash it out now and get it over and done with. Then if we have enough time we could head over to Simpson's for dinner like in the old days.'

I sighed. I was still furious but there was no other way around it. Besides, Holmes and locked the door and I was fairly certain he had hidden my set keys in the same place as my clothes.

I followed him into the sitting room, which was now completely free of papers. Holmes must have arranged things before our arrival. The fire was crackling and there were two glasses of scotch waiting for us on the coffee table. The fact he had been so certain that his plan would work that he had organised this little scene in advance only added to my irritation. Holmes sat in his chair and pulled out his pipe as though he had just come back from a satisfying evening at the theatre.

'Don't you want to know how I came to realise you were going to make your little suicide attempt?' he asked as he leant down to retrieve some tobacco from his slipper.

'No.' I snapped as I sat in the seat furthest from him. While I was incredibly curious as to what gave the game away, I knew that the thing that irked Holmes the most in all the world was when he was refused the opportunity to explain his precious methods. Even from the other side of the room I could see his eye twitch.

'Oh come now, Watson. Don't be irritable.'

'You arrested me!'

'I took you into protective custody. There is a difference.'

'Not to the spectators that saw me cuffed and man-handled into a cab.'

'Seeing as it was only I posing as a policeman I hardly think it counts either way. If I really wanted to be cruel I would have simply informed a real policeman that you were an imposter and have you hauled away to a prison cell until I came to collect you. In fact, that little scenario would have been a loss less trouble on my part.'

'Well I'm pleased you went that extra mile for my sake.' My voice dripped with sarcasm.

'It was my pleasure,' said Holmes and merrily puffed away on his pipe.

There was an uneasy pause in the conversation. Holmes seemed reluctant to break it but eventually he did.

'Why didn't you tell me you planned on re-enlisting?' he asked.

'I thought you would attempt to stop me.' I muttered. 'I wonder how I ever reached that conclusion. I'm sure you realise, I am going to have a devil of a time trying to convince them I am who I say I am now. I will probably have to go to a recruitment office outside the city entirely.'

'So you still intend to join the army.' he said. His voice was razor thin. I nodded.

'I realise I should have consulted you beforehand Holmes. It was selfish of me not to and I am sorry. Truly I am. However, the original idea of re-enlisting...'

'It is, without a doubt, the most ridiculous notion you've ever had, Watson.' With this statement he crossed his arms and said something I had not been expecting at all.

'I forbid it.'

For a moment I sat there, baffled as how to reply. 'You what?'

'I am dearly hoping that hearing loss is one of the symptoms of whatever brain-addling disease you've clearly been stricken with these past few days. I said I forbid you to go to war.'

I don't know whether it was the final straw after the day's farce, or whether I was simply too exhausted to control my actions or emotions any longer.

I laughed.

I laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. I simply couldn't contain myself. The fact that Holmes continued to sit there with his arms folded, looking indignant made it all the harder to stop.

'I have no idea what you find so amusing.' he said in a vain attempt to regain control of the situation. I wrapped my arm around my aching ribcage in an attempted to stifle my cackles.

'You are!' I was on the verge of tears. Tears! 'You. Sitting there and forbidding me to join the army. I'm sure the recruitment officers will be very annoyed to learn that you haven't signed my permission slip.' As I write this, it may seem like that last sentence was all very clear and intelligible. In truth it was not. Then again Holmes was a deductive genius. He managed to decipher my laugh-mangled sentence.

'I am completely serious.'

'I know. That's why it is so hilarious.'

'Watson! You're acting like a child.'

'And the series of practical jokes you forced upon me today were a sign of your maturity?'

'They were not practical jokes Watson. They were diversionary tactics. If you can't recognise a simple military strategy when you are confronted with one then I think you should not be allowed back into service.'

I schooled my features and attempted to stare him down. The effect was spoiled by the amusement that, I am sure, still lingered on my features. 'Holmes, believe it or not, you are not my father, you are not my elder brother and in actuality I am two years your senior. You are in no position to forbid me from doing anything. I have made my decision and nothing you can say or do is going to change that. I think today has proved that conclusively. '

'It's proved conclusively that you are as hard-headed as you always were and that even in my declining years I can still out-smart you.'

'Holmes, you can still out-smart everyone on God's green earth.' I said. 'But you must know that you cannot prevent me from re-enlisting forever. I'm almost certain you used up your entire arsenal of "diversionary tactics" today and even if you haven't, is this really the best way to stop me from re-enlisting? Imposing your will upon me through trickery?'

'I would have preferred to discuss the matter with you but you seem to think that I shouldn't have a say in your affairs.'

'Fine. Let us discuss it now.' I cleared my throat and sat up straight. 'I say, old chum. I was considering re-joining His Majesty's forces. What do you think?'

'I think you are a complete mad-man.'

'Thank you, Holmes. Your opinion has been noted.'

'Watson!'

I cast aside my frivolous manner and looked at Holmes with all the sincerity I could muster. 'Holmes, you know more about the upcoming war than anyone. The threat we are facing. That bitter wind that we must weather, as you put it not too long ago. We all must do our part if we are going to emerge victorious. You have given two years of your life to this cause. Surely you cannot deny me the chance to do the same.'

'Watson, you have already done your part...'

'In Maiwand? I know. I suppose that no matter how many years go by I will always consider myself a soldier.' I said quietly, 'And soldiers go to war.'

There was silence for a moment. Holmes looked older and greyer than I had seen him in a long time. I ended the stillness by setting my glass on the coffee table with a deliberate thud. 'Now, can I go to bed without fear of being drugged in my sleep and whisked off to a foreign country, against my will?'

Holmes tilted his head for a moment, feigning that he was considering the idea.

Or at least, I choose to believe he was feigning.

'If you must.' he said with a sigh. I stood and was almost out the door when he spoke.

'I simply do not understand, Watson; a position I am unaccustomed to and find I have no taste for. What prompted this bout of lunacy?'

I shrugged. There was little point in concealment now. 'I saw Wiggins down near the post office last week. He had signed up the day before.'

Holmes sat up. 'Wiggins? Surely he isn't old enough to join the army.'

I leant on the door-frame. 'He's thirty-seven, Holmes. '

I didn't look at the man as he began to choke on his tobacco. The sight of Wiggins walking down the street in that cursed uniform played like a motion picture again and again in my head. Holmes laid his pipe on the coffee table.

'That isn't possible! Look, if Wiggins was say... ten when we first moved to Baker Street...' Holmes did some quick calculations in his head before he let a small 'Oh.' escape his lips.

'He's married, Holmes. Married and raising a brood who have – if I am perfectly frank – an unhealthy obsession with you and your adventures.'

'I wash my hands of that.' he said simply. 'I wasn't the one who decided to chronicle those events. I was perfectly content to let those events be a matter of legal record and be done with it. You were the one who decided to make us national heroes.'

'Yes...' I said. I was startled by the bitter edge to my voice. 'Heroes.'

'Watson?' Holmes leaned forward attempting catch my gaze. I refused to meet it.

It didn't matter. Holmes' brilliant mind ticked over in a matter of seconds.

'Oh my dear Watson...'

'Holmes, don't...'

'You feel that Wiggins' re-enlistment was due to his adoration of you. Isn't that, Watson?' I said nothing. Holmes' mind hurtled forward like a steam engine. 'The boy always admired you since our early days back at Baker Street and has joined the army to emulate you. I wager he told you as much when you saw him on that street last week. Then you, feeling as though you have ushered not only Wiggins but possibly a generation of young men into service, through your romanticised tales of adventure and daring-do, decide it's only right that you should go join to war effort as well. To protect young men like him. Have I left any other crucial details out of my analysis?'

I shook my head. Holmes had picked apart my motives like one of his petty criminals in his cases. How could I have ever hoped to hide the truth from him?

'Well thank the heavens for that.' Holmes in a bizarre way looked relieved, as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders. 'Here I was thinking that this was some fool-hardy attempt to relieve your glory days.' I must admit I was slightly offended.

'Holmes! Do you really think me that superficial?'

'I don't, dear fellow, however I have not been in your company for a little over two years. I was worried that my steadfast companion had been transformed in my absence into a thrill-seeking dare-devil. After all, the last time I went abroad for a few years you were a completely altered man by the time I returned.'

'If you remember correctly, Holmes, during that time I lost my wife and my closest friend. I think those circumstances were rather exceptional.'

'I admit I should have known better, old boy. I should have known my Watson would not rejoin the army for his own sake but for the sake of others.' He smiled around his pipe. 'Watson, you really are a fixed point in a changing age.'

'Then you see why I must go.'

'I see that your reasoning was logical but not rational. It was based on emotion and a small population sample. You can't be so egotistical as to think that every young man who joins the army does so to imitate you.'

'No, but there is at least one,' I muttered, 'and believe me, that is enough.'

'Watson you cannot blame yourself for the choices Wiggins makes. Whether his decision turns out to be foolhardy or not you were not the one who frog-marched him down to the recruitment office and force him to join the army. He is his own man. You do not have control over the way he lives his life.'

I raise my eyebrow. 'Do you not see a hint of irony in that statement, Holmes?'

He did not respond. The clock in the hallway struck ten and I realised that I should be on my way to bed. After all, it had been a tiring day. As I turned towards the door once more, Holmes called after me.

'Don't re-enlist.'

I looked back at my old friend. He was staring at his hand as his thumb circled the brim of his pipe.

It was a plea.

'I know you, Watson. If you believe something must be done, you will do everything in your power to see it through. It is one of the qualities I most admire in you. However, I don't think you realise what you are getting into. No, don't interrupt. Let me finish. I know that it may seem presumptuous of me to lecture you about war, when you are the only one of us to have ever seen combat. However, you are right when you said that in my time abroad I have had a glimpse of what the future holds. Watson, this war is going to be like nothing we've seen before. Men from every corner of every empire are marching to defend their motherlands. This war is likely to engulf millions. Not thousands. Millions. To think of you, out there in some forsaken corner of the earth to be caught up in the grind of this war machine, to be another nameless body trampled in the mud,' he pause as though he was grasping for the right words, but I could swear I heard a catch in his throat, 'Watson, do not think of me as selfish but I am certain it would destroy me. I have reasoned with you, I have forbidden you, I have manipulated you, and I have physically dragged you out of a recruitment office and yet I have nothing left to do but beg you. Please Watson. Don't re-enlist.'

* * *

**Anyone guess who the constable was? Anyone guess what Holmes' last strategy was going to be? Anyone guess what Watson's reply is going to be? Anyone annoyed with me for asking a bunch of questions instead of giving you the resolution? Well, I'll make it up next chapter in the final instalment. Take care.**


	7. Epilogue: Counter Offer

**A/N: And here it is. The final installment.**

* * *

I couldn't bear to look at him at that moment. For Holmes to be so honest and open with me, with anyone, was rare and shocking. I wanted so much to say I wouldn't re-join; to quell his fears and have the matter done with once and for all. But I knew that I couldn't. If I was were to take the easy option and leave all those young men to their fate, to the grind of the war machine as Holmes had put it, I don't think I could have lived with myself. I bowed my head.

'Holmes, I cannot remain idle while this war rages. I have to do something. I must do something. I... I have no say in the matter.'

Holmes gave me a smile. It was grim, but it was a smile nonetheless. 'My dear Watson. Always the man of action, eh?'

'Yes , Holmes,' I said softly. 'Always.'

Holmes cocked his head to one side and stood up. 'I thought as much. If that is the case Watson, would you at least do me the service of considering my counter offer?'

I raise my eyebrows. 'Whatever do you mean?' Holmes gave a grin and went over to the desk, pulling something out from one of the drawers

'Apparently,' he said, 'Mycroft's superiors were so impressed by my performance as Altamont that they want me to continue.' Holmes dropped a stack of official and ominous-looking papers on my coffee table. 'They have requested –in that distinct way that makes one very hesitant to refuse – that I carry on my efforts in espionage.'

I stood for a moment too dumbstruck to speak. Then the wordsmith within me found exactly the right thing to say.

'How dare you.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'How dare you, Holmes!' my voice grew stronger and louder as fury filled my lungs. 'You go to extraordinary lengths – insane lengths, I think many people would agree – to prevent me from re-joining His Majesty's forces before practically begging me to stay in England, when all the while you had that that file and knew that you are going to bugger off for another two years! Do you think I haven't spent all this time worrying whether you were dead, or captured or heaven knows...'

'Watson, please! You misunderstand.'

'Really? Are you not going to continue your covert operations abroad?'

He paused. 'Well, yes...'

'Goodnight, Holmes.'

Holmes, with the speed of a man half his age, dashed between me and the door, baring my path. 'Wait, Watson, I wasn't finished. I am going back undercover, but only under one condition; that you come with me.'

To say that the day had been full of surprises would probably been the worst sort of understatement. However, I would have to say that was most definitely the most shocking statement I had encountered, on that day or any other.

'Me?'

Holmes nodded. 'Who else?'

I found myself rubbing my head. It had become considerably greyer over the past two years. 'Someone with experience, for one. Someone who understood espionage, who had some acting ability and relevant skills...'

'How about a former Army surgeon who has shown loyalty to his country time and time again? A man who is intelligent, meticulous , and has spent a fair proportion of his life assisting the authorities in apprehending some of London's most dangerous criminals? A man who is trustworthy, honourable, and knows how to keep his head in a crisis? Would you consider any of those skills or experiences to be useful?'

'You flatter me, old friend, but we both know that I am woefully under-qualified for a task as important as the one you are proposing. This isn't one of our Baker Street cases where the livelihood of a client is in jeopardy. Those stakes were high enough. But here we are talking about the whole country, the whole Empire. I don't think that the government is going to allow me to tag along.'

'Firstly, Watson, you are not and never were one to just "tag along." You would be an agent in your own right and an important asset to the British cause. Secondly, I know for a fact the secret service would be thrilled to have you amongst their midst.'

'Really?' I crossed my arms. 'How so?'

'Because they've already agreed.'

'What?'

Holmes put his hands in his pockets. 'When I realised you were planning on re-joining your old unit, I had a conversation with Mycroft as to what I should do. Oh, you needn't worry. Today's events were entirely my concoction. But Mycroft was the one who suggested having you accompany me on my little excursions. He said that my work on the Von Bork case was a little hap-hazard for his tastes which he attributes to your absence, what with you being my "conductor of light" and so forth. I agree entirely about you being an invaluable assistant, but to call my efforts slap-dash was somewhat affronting...'

I attempted to steer Holmes back to the matter at hand. 'So he just decided that I should join you? And convinced the rest of British Intelligence likewise?'

'Today, as it happens. Apparentl, Mycroft has considerable influence, Watson. I would be wary about refusing his offer, if I were you. My brother probably has agents across the realm waiting to pounce upon you should you decline. What do you say?'

I drifted back towards the settee and positioned myself upon its arm. 'This is... This is ridiculous, Holmes. I can't possibly work in espionage.'

'But it all fits perfectly, can't you see that, Watson? You can still serve your country, I can stop you from getting yourself killed, you can do likewise for me, and together we shall simultaneously fight the good fight and keep my brother from pestering me. Everybody wins.'

'What would people say? Won't they notice our disappearance?'

'I'm sure you could come up with a fitting excuse, old man. Say that you've gone to live with me in Sussex and help me keep bees or something along those lines.'

'Holmes, it would have to be something believable.'

'Well, you're the writer. I'll leave the details up to you. We have to be at the rendezvous point by eight o'clock tomorrow to receive our next assignment, so I would go to bed now if I were you. These spies are fastidious when it comes to punctuality.' Holmes headed out the door and towards the guest room.

I got up and followed him.

'Wait a minute, Holmes, wait a minute! I haven't actually agreed to any of this, you know.'

'I know you'll make the right choice Watson. Your country needs you, after all,' he called over his shoulder before shutting the door to his room, effectively ending the conversation. I stood in the hall dumbfounded. How could he be so certain I would agree to join him on his next mission? It was a little conceited of him to think I would blindly drop everything and follow him into the unknown, particularly after what he had put me through that day. Then again just that morning I was willing do exactly that, only without his companionship or support. I had joined him on so many cases before without the slightest clue as to what was going on, so why should it be any different now? Maybe I didn't need to be on the front line to serve my country. Maybe this time I needn't face the enemy alone...

'Watson, for pity's sake, stop whatever inner monologue you are currently performing outside my room and go to bed.' Holmes' voice rang out from behind his door. 'We have a busy day ahead of us. Wars don't win themselves, you know.'

I smiled and shook my head. 'Indeed, Holmes. I'll see you in the morning.'

The End

* * *

**A/N: Thus ends my first multi-chaptered single plotline fic. I would like to thank all of you who have read, reviewed, faved and interacted with me. You kept me semi-honest and if it wasn't for your too-kind, too-encouraging words, I probably would have let this fall apart like so many other fics before. Special thanks to the wonderful Medcat, queen of the Holmes-Beta community, who edited half this story (you can tell the ones she didn't edit because of the obvious anachronisms, misspellings and clunky sentences) and who was kind enough not to hunt me down, kill me and carve the words [INSERT COMMA HERE] into my corpse. I hope you all enjoyed the ending and may the force be with you.**


End file.
